


Climbing Jagged Rocks

by Goldy



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2014-07-28
Packaged: 2018-02-08 19:01:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1952541
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldy/pseuds/Goldy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Martha Jones, during the Year That Never Was.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Climbing Jagged Rocks

It’s the little things that get to her at first.

It’s been weeks since she last bathed. Her hair is greasy and her skin smells like molded cheese. She thinks longingly of hot showers, of fluffy white towels, of perfume and soap.

She stops to pee by the side of the road and crouches down in a ditch, hoping— _praying_ —nobody can see her. She sleeps in London’s abandoned Underground, her cheek pressed to her arm, and her legs pulled up to her chest.

She closes her eyes and pretends she’s somewhere else.

_She’s sitting down to tea with the Doctor. The TARDIS hums around them. The kitchen’s lights are muted, making her feel warm and sleepy. Her eyelids are heavy, but she forces herself to stay alert. She braces her chin on her hand, lips curving into a smile._

_Her muscles ache from running, but she’s giddy because the Doctor’s hug lingered a few seconds longer than it normally did. He’s making her tea, adding way more sugar than she likes and babbling about disappearing timelines and temporal physics._

_The tea slopes over the sides of the mug when he plunks it down in front of her. The steam tickles her nose, and she ticks her gaze to his face. He’s grown quiet, and he stares at her. Just **stares** like he’s waiting on her to do something, give him some sign._

_“Doct—” she begins, but he cuts her off, ducking in and pressing his lips to—_

Martha’s eyes snap open. Now _that’s_ not real—she knows that well enough. That’s not the Doctor.

There are two men fighting in a burned out railcar, grappling for a small corner of stale bread.

“You motherfucking son of a bitch—”

“You give that back, you cockfucking pissface—”

They don’t notice her. They never do.

Martha shuts her eyes. She thinks about soft pillows, crisp sheets, and warm comforters.

******************

There are hands everywhere, pushing her down, throwing blankets over her head. Hot voices whisper in her ear.

“Go on, go on—”

“I can’t,” she says brokenly.

The hands push her more insistently. She stumbles, but strong arms grab her elbows and haul her back to her feet.

“Go. Now.”

“No, that’s not fair. You can’t ask me to just leave you—”

Another shove cuts her off.

“Martha Jones, you brought us hope. Now, _run_.”

She runs. She forces her tired legs to carry her up the hill, her feet scrambling for purchase on the mountainside made of sand and jagged rocks.

She reaches the top, her throat burning with every breath, and her hand pressed against the stitch in her side. Panting, she turns around, her eyes falling on the village below her.

It’s burning.

The people scream and the Toclafane laugh. The smoke stings her eyes, she can smell their flesh, and the Toclafane are _laughing_.

A shiver starts at the bottom of her spine and then she’s on her knees, vomiting and shaking. Sweat drips into her eyes as her body convulses. Her fingers dig into the ground, pebbles lodging under her nails. Her stomach continues to heave, going until there’s nothing left, until she’s left gasping for air.

Her arms give out and she falls to the ground in a heap. She drags herself to the edge of the mountainside and stares down at the burning village. The screams are beginning to fade.

The little things no longer seem quite as important.

******************

Martha stares up at the sky and counts as many stars as she can. The wind is still and the air tastes sweet, the smell of fresh lilacs tickling her nose. She trails her fingers through the grass. She can still hear them— _run_ —and smell them— _smoke, burning her eyes, choking her until she can’t breathe_ —but she knows now that this is only the beginning.

Above her, the Master has the Doctor, Jack, and her family locked up. He could do anything to them—he could _kill_ them—and she wouldn’t know.

It’s beginning to drive her a little bit mad.

She wonders if this is what Rose would have done. Or if Rose would have stayed at the Doctor’s side, ready to take whatever torture the Master threw at her. Maybe that’s what the Doctor would have wanted. (Maybe the Doctor is just glad Rose wasn’t there at all, but Martha doesn’t like to dwell too long on that thought.)

But Martha followed the Doctor’s instructions. Martha snapped on Jack’s vortex manipulator and Martha left them all behind.

She wishes she believed it was the right decision.

******************

One day she’s a bit too slow. She doesn’t see the Toclafane until it’s too late.

She ducks out of the way at the last moment, but her ankle catches on a tree root. Her foot twists and pain shoots up to her knee. Her body lands hard, her cheek striking the edge of a nearby boulder. She bites her lip to muffle her scream and falls face first into the dirt. The smell of blood overwhelms her nostrils and she lies as still as she can, breathing hard against the ground.

The Toclafane loses sight of her and moves off. Martha stays perfectly still, hardly daring to breathe. Finally, certain it’s safe again, she rolls over, coming to rest on her back.

Her ankle protests the movement and she feels a throbbing ache reverberate up and down her leg. Her fingers come up to test the gash on her cheek and she hisses in pain. When she pulls her hand away, her fingers are coated in blood.

The tears come next. They roll silently down her cheeks, mixing with the blood, and then thickly sliding down her neck and chin. She doesn’t sob. Too much noise would give her position away.

_I hate him._

The ferocity of the thought surprises her, leaving her momentarily paralyzed. She closes her eyes and thinks it again.

_I hate him. I hate him. I hate him. I hate him._

The tears don’t let up and she presses her fist to her mouth, biting down on her knuckles to hold back the sobs.

That’s when Martha Jones stops caring what Rose would have done and what the Doctor might think. Right there, with her cheek bleeding and her ankle pulsing in pain, right in the middle of a rocky mountain, she figures it all out.

She’s going to save this planet, and she’s going to smile at the Master before she’s finished.

******************

Martha hobbles into the town, her injured foot dragging out behind her. The blood on her cheek has long-since dried and her tears have run their course.

The people whisper amongst themselves as she approaches. They bring her food and water, ice for her ankle, and a bandage for her cheek.

It’s only when she’s full, when she’s calm and she’s gained their trust that she starts in on her story.

“But if Martha Jones is a legend then that’s wrong,” she begins. “Let me tell you about the man who sent me here. Who told me to walk the Earth. His name is the Doctor.”


End file.
